Red Balloon
by EmberForge
Summary: Because afterwards, that balloon was still sitting on the side table.


_"…My first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you."_

 **-The Sign of Three**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

.

It stared.

Sherlock stared back.

"It won't work, you know."

It bobbed its head.

Sherlock, perched on his chair, scowled at the red balloon still floating above John's. He pulled out his phone anyway, fingers hovering over the keys for a long moment before typing.

 _…_

 _John._

 _John, I_

 _I'm_

 _I just want to_

His grip went white on the phone as he typed, furiously deleting sentence after sentence until finally throwing it at the balloon in frustration. His phone crashed somewhere onto the mess that was the dining table, only glancing off the balloon and making it bob more violently. Sherlock heard the tinkle of broken glass. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. When he opened them again he saw wisps of smoke starting to form in the kitchen.

Sherlock sighed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _No new messages_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A funeral had been arranged quickly. John had been ignoring Sherlock constantly ever since…

Well.

He managed to slip away whenever Sherlock came anywhere near him, always seemingly occupied by something or someone else. Sherlock let him do it.

The only communication they had was the day after the funeral. Sherlock had been considering visiting John, or perhaps just contacting him, when as if by the very thought his phone lit up with a text.

Sherlock opened it.

 _Don't. Just… don't._

 _-JW_

So he didn't.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _No new messages_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"It's been a week, you know."

"I'm aware of that fact, thank you, _Mycroft_."

Sherlock was scowling at his brother. Mycroft brushed off the usual disdain in his tone, the only indication of what he was thinking being a quirk of his lips. "Mrs. Hudson tells me you haven't left the flat since then."

"Like you didn't already know that."

"Sherlock," Mycroft paused, and for a second Sherlock would almost say he looked… tired. "Mary's funeral expenses have been taken care of, as has anything else that can be provided financially for Rosamund's care. We have sitters on standby at a moment's notice, should John need them. But I'm afraid that's all I can provide. You, on the other hand…"

"What?" Sherlock bit out.

"Talk to him, Sherlock."

"What could I possibly say to him? I don't believe he can even stand the sight of me right now."

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure. Maybe practice on your… friend, there." Mycroft's gaze traveled to the balloon currently occupying John's chair. The only reason Sherlock didn't throw him out of the flat right then and there was the lack of scorn that followed the gaze.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _No new messages_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He sent a baby blanket.

It was completely spur of the moment. The only reason he left the flat was to buy some milk, but on the way there a street vendor caught his eye. She was selling a variety of knit and sewn goods, and on the corner of their table was a soft green blanket, with little roses embroidered on the corner. Sherlock didn't even check the price – he just grabbed it and without a word threw what was likely way more than what the blanket was worth at the shocked vendor before walking away.

Sherlock didn't buy milk that day.

He convinced Mrs. Hudson to bring it with her the next time she decided to bring some of her cooking over to John. She reluctantly agreed to tell John it was from her, but Sherlock could tell by the expression on her face when she came back that she hadn't been the most convincing liar.

Sherlock sat in silence the rest of the night, only the balloon to keep him company.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _No new messages_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Jabez Wilson, a thirty-four year old pawnbroker on Covent Garden was recently hired to copy the Encyclopedia Britannica word-for-word after responding to an ad in the paper asking for red-headed men – _No, no, no,_ this won't work!"

The balloon stared.

"You're not him! I know you're not…"

The balloon continued staring.

"I've always known."

It floated slight to the right.

"Besides, I've already contacted Lestrade and told him to post extra security in the basement tomorrow night."

The balloon rotated in the air until it faced the other direction.

Sherlock suddenly grabbed the book to which it was tied and threw it at the door. The only response was the resounding thud it made as it hit the door and the muffled sound of glass breaking, resulting from a surprised Mrs. Hudson downstairs. It took ten minutes of staring before Sherlock picked it up and brought it back. He looked at the balloon for a moment, then considered John's chair…

The balloon was relocated to the side table. Just in case.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _No new messages_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The balloon had finally stopped floating. Frankly, Sherlock was surprised it had lasted as long as it had. It now stared at him while it limply hung upside down off the edge of the side table.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

It stared.

" I didn't _ask_ her to… I didn't _want_ her…"

Sherlock paced back and forth in between the two chairs. The balloon fluttered a bit from an unseen draft.

"She had you! She had you, and a child, while I have – " he stopped, staring at the balloon.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Please."

It said nothing.

"I promised to protect you. All of you. And I failed."

He paused. Without a second thought he pulled out his phone, typed, and pressed send.

 _I'm here._

 _-SH_


End file.
